By Siddharth Dasgupta
Issue no 18
In old Russian children’s books, every illustration
appeared as though it had been plucked out of
Christmas. Ogres, cherubic children, enchanted
forests, Baba Yagas—everything snowflaked into
a Christmas quilt…
By Sayan Aich Bhowmik
Issue no. 16
I remember last winter
Reserved for sighing milky-ways into the fireplace
I ran into someone at the marketplace
Where lonely men display their solitude in crystal jars
Someone, wearing the same perfume
That you smeared on yourself after a shower.
The highways that have howled at midnight